Street of Death

By Mary Ann Mitchell

Historical--15th Century--The Spanish Inquisition

Susanna Diego brought shame and death to her family. As penance, on her death bed she requests that her severed head be placed atop the front door lintel of her former family home. Her last prayer is a wish that her daughter never know her mother's shame.

To Teresa, an orphan brought up in a convent, Susanna Diego's skull instills fear and an inexplicable personal sadness. When the nuns send her to care for a dying converso, a former Jew, she learns first-hand of the wretchedness and torture suffered by the Inquisition's victims. She falls in love with the dying man's son, Louis Velez, a man directly targeted by Torquemada, the Grand Inquisitor. The skull of Susanna Diego brings the couple in direct conflict with Torquemada, and their lives are put in jeopardy. Will anyone come to their aid or shall one or both die bound to the Inquisition's fiery stake?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Ann Mitchell
• Release date: Nov 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301683987

Mary Ann Mitchell

Mary Ann Mitchell has published 11 books. Her first book, Drawn to the Grave, was a final nomination for the Bram Stoker Award and won the International Horror Guild Award. She held officer positions with the Horror Writers Association and with the Northern California Sisters in Crime organization. She is now making her books available as e-books.

Book preview

Prologue

Spain, Late Fifteenth Century

Gently the old woman brushed the damp rag across the dying woman’s forehead. The bed linen was wet with sweat and bile. The candle’s wick on the windowsill burned low. The room was chillier than it ought to have been for one so ill, but there was no money for fuel, no money for a physician, only the arduous wait for death that hung in the air.

How is she, Maria? asked the priest.

Maria touched an index finger to her lips and softly walked across the room to join the priest at the threshold.

She is much worse. I feared you might not come.

The priest looked into Maria’s bloodshot eyes and saw the agony she suffered from carrying this dying woman’s soul on her conscience. Too young to fear his superiors, the priest had come when Maria’s grandson had brought her plea. He looked to the bed and saw Susanna tossing in an uneasy sleep.

Bring the candle closer to the bed. I have brought the Host, if she is able to repudiate her past and consign her soul to the Lord.

When he reached the head of the bed, Susanna’s eyes opened. Even in her feverish turmoil she could sense this man of God.

Why are you here? she asked.

The priest awkwardly looked to Maria.

Embarrassed, Maria lowered her head and admitted that Susanna had not asked to see him.

That is not what your grandson led me to believe.

She has tried to turn her life about, Father.

Many times, from what I’ve heard, but she forever found herself wandering from one man’s bed to another.

What could she do? She has no father, and her family has disowned her. She depended on men to survive.

She would have been better off dead. The priest’s voice was charged with indignation. Why waste my time here, when I could be serving a Christian family?

But, Father, often you have preached that we all are God’s children. Isn’t Susanna entitled to have the hand of God resting on her brow?

I am worth nothing, Maria. Susanna attempted to raise her head from the pillow but fell back. A child who kills a parent will never be called to the presence of any God. I am resigned to the contempt my body will receive after I die. You are a wondrous woman to stay by me and listen to my contrite rambling. However, I cannot set my hopes in a religion that is foreign to me.

Maria rushed to the side of the bed. It does not matter whether he is dressed as a priest or a rabbi. They both carry the Lord with them.

Maria, that is blasphemous. There is only one God. And He recognizes only His own papal religion.

Maria turned quickly toward the priest.

And He is the God who would torture a people for being different. There is no sin on Susanna’s soul except for the desire to live that has driven her to this ignoble deathbed.

She admits she killed her own father, Maria. What do you expect me to do for one such as she?

Susanna did not kill her father with her own hand.

No, her lover did that for her by informing the Inquisitor. The wench’s lover related seeing her father heading the table of a family seder. You know that the Edict of Faith requires that a Christian report the name of the home that celebrates the Feast of Unleavened Bread. She knew the law, but allowed her baser drives to overcome even her love of family.

She did not expect him...

Stop, Maria. The priest is right. I sinned dreadfully against my own, and I have not paid enough for the evil I brought upon our house.

Repent, Susanna. Repent and die in peace, begged Maria.

Peace. I don’t deserve peace. I should have been the one placed on the rack, not my father. My body should have been singed by the flames that licked my father’s flesh. Instead, the Inquisitor deemed to take all that I had and set me free in the streets. I have slept on cobblestones, and when it rained I sought shelter in doorways and taverns and, yes... Her voice lowered, and her eyes met the priest’s. … in the beds of men both kind and brutal.

Repent, Susanna, while the Lord’s representative stands before you. Maria fell to her knees by the side of the bed, holding Susanna’s skeletal hand tightly. Susanna’s flesh sagged and paled as the hour of death approached.

For you, dear woman, I would seek forgiveness if I felt in any way worthy. Your kindness and attention deserve more than what I am capable of giving to you.

Do it for your child, Susanna.

My daughter is a stranger to me. Shortly after I had birthed her in a convent, I fled. She does not know who her mother is, and that is for the best. She must never know that my Jewish blood flows through her veins. Safe within the arms of the sisterhood she will live out her life, not knowing man and the terrible yearning he can spark in her flesh.

She has a daughter? the priest asked.

Susanna was barely two months with child when the Inquisition took away her father. That may be one reason why her life was spared.

Where is the girl now?

Fear roared into Susanna’s eyes as she looked between the priest and Maria.

We do not know, mumbled Maria. It has been more than seventeen years. The child is now an adult. Perhaps she remained in the convent. Perhaps she left and married and had her own babies. Maria shrugged.

If you have any idea where the daughter is, you should call for her now so that she and her mother can make amends. Susanna does not have many more hours to atone for the evils she has set in motion.

Jumping to her feet, Maria let go of Susanna’s hand.

The evils, Father, were set in motion by the men who called for the Inquisition. Not by simple souls who were caught up in the confusion. She turned to face the priest. Even you know, Father, that many died so that others could abscond with the wealth that the victims left behind. This is not a battle for souls, but a war of greed.

Silence. If someone should hear, you would be reported to the Inquisitor.

I have no wealth. I merely comfort those who are leaving this world. And sometimes I envy them when they finally close their eyes. Instead of finding peace, I cleanse the corpse and help families to bury those they love. Do you know the number of tears I have seen? The number of children left stunned and often homeless because of death? Her voice faltered. What am I saying? Of course, you see the same hideous repetition as I do. Maria got down on her knees and kissed the hem of the priest’s cassock. Forgive me, Father. You are here because you understand the anguish. I should never have spoken in such a way.

The priest’s hand shook slightly as he reached for the top of Maria’s head.

I will stay until the end and require no false contriteness.

Maria smiled up at the priest, but became alarmed when she heard the wheezing breath of her patient.

There is one more favor I must ask, Maria. Susanna’s voice cracked as she spoke.

Leaning over the bed, Maria promised that she would fulfill this last request.

You must take my head to the Inquisitor. Ask him to place it above the front-door lintel of what was once my family home. Let everyone see my shame, and let the vermin eat my flesh. And when there is nothing but skull, let it stand as a reminder of the lowly life I brought upon myself.

Maria began to shake her head, but Susanna would not allow her to speak.

See to it, Father, for I fear Maria may weaken and bury me whole. Someday my daughter may walk past my skull and condemn the life that forced her into such a cruel world.

Chapter 1

Teresa hesitated before walking down the dark cobblestone street. She brushed her dark hair back from her face and wished she had thought of wearing a shawl to cover her head and shoulders. A mild chill made her shiver. Her arms were bare and bore the woven tattoo from the basket she had been carrying. The basket now lay at her feet, filled with the sweets and meats Sister Agatha had packed for the newly widowed wife of an admitted heretic.

How was she supposed to locate the home of the widow in the darkness before her? Her green eyes could see only shadowy forms crowding the street. Teresa crossed herself and took a deep breath. As she bent to lift the basket, a small animal ran past, almost touching her skirt. A rat nosing its way closer to the banquet that rested at her feet? she wondered. Swiftly she lifted the basket into her arms and took slow, careful steps down the street.

The street was known as La Calle de la Muerte, The Street of Death. Many conversos, Jews who had converted to the Roman Catholic faith, had lived on this street. Most were now dead due to the efficiency of the Inquisition. Whispers floated through the air on this street, whispers of the dead carried by the wind to the ears of family who were left behind. The cries of children suffering hunger and isolation rang through the street by day, and only in the quiet of night could the whispers lullaby their babes to sleep. Gossip spoke of widows being embraced in their beds by ghostly arms that felt familiar, and children smiled in their sleep as if a loving father had tousled their hair.

She listened intently, hoping that she would not hear the specters that mourned their former lives. Her eyes were opened so wide they ached. Another small animal crossed her path. She hoped it was not a black cat.

The fourth door on the right should have a simple handmade crucifix attached to it. This would be the house where she would leave the burden she now carried.

The moon lent enough light that she could see on the ground a crucifix obviously fallen from an old bare wooden door. Perhaps many of the houses had crucifixes, she thought while edging closer to the door. Through a side window she could see several candles burning, shedding a glow on a pair of sleeping children.

Teresa rapped lightly on the door. She could hear a chair being moved, and soon a graceful woman stood in the open doorway. The woman’s eyes were swollen from tears but still carried the glint of pride. Her high cheekbones were set on a lean face. Her skin looked so smooth and pale that Teresa wondered if this woman actually belonged on this poverty-ridden street.

Señora Esther?

The woman nodded her head, and Teresa stretched her arms out, offering the overflowing basket to her. As the woman reached to accept the gift, Teresa saw how weathered the woman’s hands looked. Calluses and bruises marred the flesh. An open wound crisscrossed the back of one hand. Teresa sensed that the woman had noticed her gaze when Señora Esther almost pulled her hands back, but reason quickly made her change her mind and take the basket.

Would you like to come in?

No, I see that your children are sleeping, and I do not wish to disturb them.

Thank you. This is the first night they have managed to nod off. Children heal more quickly than we do, don’t they?

Teresa nodded her head, thanking God she had never known what it was like to lose a parent or go hungry in the middle of the night.

You should also try to sleep.

I have his clothes laid out on the bed. I will bring them to the convent soon. I just can’t... The widow’s voice cracked.

There is no hurry. Sister Agatha wished to ensure the children weren’t going hungry.

Thank her for me. Embarrassed, the widow tilted her head down toward the basket.

Teresa squatted to lift the crucifix off the ground. When she stood she saw Señora Esther’s complexion turn ashen.

I did not realize it had fallen from the door, the mother said, reaching out with one hand for the cross.

I’m sure it was the wind. Let me help you reattach it.

Together they fumbled with the crucifix, one shaking with fear and the other embarrassed to have caused such emotion.

Finished, Señora Esther turned with pleading eyes to Teresa.

You’ll not tell anyone about finding the crucifix on the ground, will you?

Trying hard to bring peace to the mother, Teresa clasped hands with the woman and swore she would not.

With a parting blessing, Teresa turned away from the door as it softly closed.

She looked straight ahead and saw that she was being watched by one of the dead. A skull loomed directly above the door on the opposite side of the street. An iron lantern with a thick candle had been placed next to the skull.

Susanna Diego’s skull, she remembered. Everyone spoke of the woman who had brought disaster on her own family. If the night were quiet enough, Susanna’s cries and screams could be heard begging for forgiveness, begging for the life of her father as she had done in life, when the flames had lit the brush surrounding her father’s stake.

Teresa thought she heard soft crying, as of a spirit mourning. Child. The air seemed to catch the softly spoken word, but no other living person was near. She looked up at the skull and pitied the woman who had brought the Inquisition’s curse on her family.

As she moved closer to the skull, she spied a tear. Could it really be a tear? Teresa wondered, slipping down over the grayish-white bone that had been aging there for several years. Teresa reached her hands out, palms upward, and felt the beginnings of a long-needed rain. Again she cursed the fact that she had forgotten a shawl and turned to hurry up the cobblestone street back to the convent.

Chapter 2

I must have someone with experience, not an orphan child no one else needs.

Teresa heard the loud masculine voice as she opened the door to the convent. She saw Sister Agatha standing in the doorway of the parlor, facing a pacing male who was smartly dressed.

She has had much experience here at the convent caring for the other sisters when they have been ill. She knows well how to give comfort to the dying, said Sister Agatha.

Death! My father will survive this illness, Sister, and outlive you by many a year.

I did not mean to offend. Only I wanted to assure you that if the situation worsened, Teresa would know what to do.

But she is merely a child.

No, I beg your pardon, Señor Velez, she is a woman of twenty. Already many other women of that age would be raising their own brood.

And why isn’t she? Has she taken vows? Has she even experienced life beyond your shuttered doors and windows?

Yes, she is often our link to the outside, running messages and bartering for food.

Teresa closed the door softly behind her, all the while trying to decide whether she should inform Sister Agatha of her return. The man’s voice coming from the parlor sounded angry and rough. His speech indicated he was well educated, but he obviously did not know how to speak to those who labored for the Lord. Not wanting to embarrass Sister Agatha, Teresa crossed the hall to the staircase.

Teresa has not taken vows and will not. Her life will be dedicated to the needy and unhealthy such as your father.

My father has all his needs met, Sister. He doesn’t need pity from the Church.

Ah, but he does need someone to care for him while he is laid low by the sickness.

I do not want a peasant looking in on him. I want someone who is of a higher status.

Is that why you expect one of the sisters to go with you to your manse?

I expect it because my father is Señor Roberto Velez, confidant of the bishop, who is your superior.

We all know that your father has done much for the Church since his conversion. His money has filled the bellies of many starving families. That is why I am willing to allow Teresa to live with your family. We will miss her. I hoped you might recognize our own sacrifice in giving her to you.

Where is this Teresa now? he asked.

Here, Teresa answered, coming into view of the parlor. She curtsied, keeping her head down, afraid to meet this man’s glare.

You are back, my child. Sister Agatha put her arms about Teresa’s shoulders and pulled her to the center of the room. You are wet.

A light rain. I am not soaked to the skin. A fitting rain to ease the discomfort the heat has caused this past week.

Perhaps you should run upstairs and change before meeting with Señor Velez.

I do not have the time to wait, Sister. A brief conversation with Teresa now will not harm her health, I’m sure.

Perhaps that is the kind of attitude that led to your father’s bedridden state, replied Sister Agatha.

It is all right. I will stand by the fire while we talk. Teresa moved to the strong fire in the fireplace. The days had been hot, but evenings chilled homes quickly when the sun descended. She watched a burst of sparks explode as one of the logs fell forward.

I would prefer that you face me, he said.

She turned slowly but kept her head bent toward the floor.

Look at me, woman. The gruff voice frightened Teresa. Most of the men she had dealings with were men of the cloth who spoke with patience.

She raised her head and found herself staring into dark, ominous eyes. His cheekbones accentuated his gaunt but handsome features. A dark hue settled on the skin just below his eyes. This man had not slept well in days.

Teresa, this is Señor Luis Velez. His father is Roberto Velez, one of our most generous sponsors.

The man threw back his shoulders and stood taller. He had to be at least six foot two or three, Teresa thought. The lace at his throat was delicate and finely crafted.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Señor Velez. I have heard much about your father and am sorry to hear that he is ill.

How do you know my father is sick?

I couldn’t help but hear the conversation you and Sister Agatha were having when I came in.

In other words, you were eavesdropping. The sarcastic tone of his voice hurt and made her blush.

I have been taught better manners than some, she said, proudly returning Señor Velez’s glare.

He ignored her comment.

Come, tell me how a woman such as yourself finds contentment in a convent. He backed away from Teresa to take a better overall look at her body.

Conscious of the dampness of her clothes, she turned back toward the fire. Her breasts seemed to be swelling against the white cotton of her blouse. She folded her arms and wished she had taken Sister Agatha’s advice and changed.

I was born in this convent, Señor Velez, and have always considered it to be a blessing.

Born to one of the nuns?

No! My mother was a misguided woman who allowed herself to be tricked by a man’s charm.

And she left you here?

What else could she do? The sisters have taken good care of me, and I pray every day that my mother’s soul was eventually saved.

Not likely.

Anger caught in Teresa’s throat, but before she could say anything, they were interrupted by Sister Agatha.

I must insist you allow Teresa some time to warm herself and change her clothes. If she becomes ill, there will be no one else to send to care for your father.

Teresa sensed the man turning away from her, and with relief she hurried toward the doorway. She stopped just outside the room.

Does Señor Velez still have need of my services? she asked.

There were a few moments of silence. She did not know whether the man had nodded in assent or whether Sister Agatha had made the choice for him, but the sister instructed Teresa to be up and ready to leave by eight the next morning. Her heart fluttered with excitement. She should fear this assignment, she knew; instead she felt a strange desire for this new adventure.

Chapter 3

Teresa packed her few belongings before retiring for the night. Her narrow bed didn’t seem as inviting as on most other nights after she had spent a full day running errands, cleaning, and caring for the ill. The muslin sheets were too cold and the wool blanket much too scratchy, but she shut her eyes tightly and prayed that sleep would finally come.

Deep in the night, Sister Agatha knocked softly on the door to Teresa’s small room, and she responded immediately, relieved that she had something to distract her from the boredom of a sleepless night.

I’m sorry to wake you, Teresa. The nun held a black rosary in her hands.

I wasn’t sleeping. Teresa pulled a shawl around her shoulders and invited the nun into the room. I’m a bit nervous about joining the Velez household.

Don’t allow Luis Velez to intimidate you. He is spoiled and very full of himself, but he is also afraid of losing his father, which makes him even more disagreeable.

Is his father dying?

From what little I have heard, I believe so. The doctors are probably bleeding him into the grave.

Then they must be told to stop.

It is not your place, Teresa, to advise on how to treat the sick. Besides, no one will pay any heed. If it is time for Roberto Velez to die, then it is up to the Lord.

Teresa made the sign of the cross and bowed her head.

We have told you little about your mother. The nun hesitated when she saw Teresa eagerly look up. The hope in Teresa’s eyes brought sorrow to the nun’s heart. And I will not break the promise I made to your mother to keep her name a secret from you. She didn’t want you to carry about the stigma from the circumstance of your birth. However, I can tell you she loved you and would be proud of how you’ve grown. Sister Agatha brushed a few strands of hair out of Teresa’s eyes. You look so sleepy.

But I can’t sleep. I do and I don’t want to leave here. There is too much confusion inside my head for me to sleep. I keep hoping I won’t fail the trust you have in me. Señor Velez is an important and influential man.

Yes. His main power rests in the wealth he has accumulated.

My clothes...

Sister Agatha reached out and pressed several fingers against Teresa’s lips.

You are not going to a ball. You are serving an invalid. You are a handmaid to the dying.

Señor Velez’s son does not agree with you. He expects his father to have a full recovery. How shall I deal with his disappointment if he is wrong?

Gently. Neither the father nor the son is cruel. You will not come to harm, if that is what worries you.

Teresa nodded her head.

We will all miss you, Teresa.

When Señor is better, or called to the Lord, won’t I return here to the convent?

I have a premonition that your life here may be drawing to a close. But don’t look so sad. There is much for you to do outside these walls. Of course, if need be, we will always accept you back.

Why didn’t my mother choose to stay at the convent? Couldn’t she have joined the order?

That was impossible.

Because of me?

Sister Agatha turned from Teresa and caught sight of the package Teresa had prepared for her trip.

"Your mother came here to have you. She didn’t want to stay. She wanted a good home for her child, a safe home during these violent and uneasy times. I came to you at this late hour because I’ve been praying in the chapel, asking God whether I have taken the proper action in sending you away. You’ve played an important role in our lives ever since we heard your first cry. We actually bickered over who would change you or feed you. Sister Lucia refused to give up your